The Ugg boots have made an appearance. I started off trying to wear them as one would in Australia; only round the house. But then the allure got too great and it got colder and I caved, alright? I know. But it's like wearing slippers. Outside. I may incur the judgement of approximately 75% of the population but this is something I'm willing to put up with because I get to wear slippers. OUTSIDE.
November thus far has been a tempestuous month, weather wise. It rains. A lot. Most of the French seem to be staying, rather sensibly, indoors. AM, of course, is still out surfing on a daily basis, walking home from the beach in flip-flops (insane) and when he's not doing that he's dragging me off to go running despite the torrential downpours. I don't know why I'm not allowed to just suffer and wallow in my Jack Wills and baggy jumper on the sofa. Or spend time at the wine rack making sure we have enough red to survive the week without needing to leave the house. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that when I get back from the four mile run in the storm my mood has actually improved and he knows this fact and is willing to endure my hatred for 40 minutes to help me feel better. I do love him. But I hate when he's right.
Navigating the quiet streets on foot does have one hazard here. I don't know what they're feeding their dogs in Biarritz. A strict diet of foie gras, cheese and chocolate truffles if the never-ending amount of crap is anything to go by. Never in my life have I seen anything like it. We're becoming quite adept at circumnavigating it, but good lord. A running joke between us is the time when, walking in Sussex, I came across a plastic bag of dog poo on a wall. For some unknown reason (the same unknown reason behind many, many of the things that pop into my head and out of my mouth before I can stop them) I initially thought it was a bag of quail's eggs. Something to do with the colour of the contents and the white translucent plastic just put me in mind of quail's eggs and their colouring.
"Look!" I exclaimed, "why would someone leave a bag of quail's eggs on the wall?"
AM approached to see what on earth it was I was blathering on about this time, gave the bag a cursory glance and regarded me with a mixture of fascination and bemusement. "It's dog poo."
"Oh. Yes. Of course it is. I don't know why I said that. Shall we go into that pub and I'll buy you a pint? Please still love me."
My special way of looking at the world aside, we have been reassured that the November storms will only make way for crisp, sunny days and indeed this morning we have awoken to clear blue skies. Bliss. Christmas in a month!